Saturday, September 23, 2017

Today you are all day
On my mind.
I hear your sighs
In the wind
I see your lips
In the leaves of
The Na tree.
The silver finger nail moon
In the sky
Is your smile.

Both now are beyond my touch.

I miss you.
Not the cursing, swearing
you, now filled with the rage of a hurricane
not the you with the stone heart
But the you who dried my tears
And said you will never forget me
The you whose hands
sculpted for me a penguin
out of yellow soap.
This is not a poem.
It is not a plea.

About Me

The way I look at it, I’m passing through a phase:
gradually I’m changing to a word. Whatever you choose to claim of me is always yours;
nothing is truly mine
... I only borrowed this dust. (Stanley Kunitz)